Archive of Our Own

Wilson enlisted both Chase and Foreman to help him move in the end, as he had a few large items that needed two people to carry them, and it went without saying that House would play the cripple card for all he was worth. Along with items in his hotel room, which didn't actually amount to very much, Wilson kept some belongings in a rented storage locker since his last divorce, and it was this he was emptying now. Foreman initially loftily said he wouldn't be free, but showed on the day; Wilson thought that he was afraid of missing something.

Wilson had done the hard work in advance. At least he thought he had, having forced House to empty half his closet and give over a reasonable amount of shelf space too. House had moaned and whined about doing it, but in the end Wilson thought the de-cluttering had done House some good, too.

Wilson unpacked and found places for things with confidence at first, but as the day progressed Chase and Foreman kept arriving with more items. First House, then Wilson, started to express doubt that it would all fit.

"I'm starting to think this place ain't big enough for the two of us," House said ominously.

"You shared it with Stacy for five years," Wilson pointed out. "You're not telling me I've got more stuff than she did."

"Well, you're about even on shoes," House said judiciously. "But you obviously have more hair care products than she did."

"That can't possibly be true." Wilson was indignant. He was sure Stacy had had far more shoes than he did.

The last thing Chase and Foreman brought in was a large anonymous square wooden packing case, and as there was nowhere else to put it, they dumped it unceremoniously in the middle of House's living room.

"Oh great," House said sarcastically. "Now we have to furnish this whole room round this thing. I could do with a new coffee table. What on earth have you got in there, anyway?"

Wilson consulted a list, because of course Wilson had a list. "Books and CDs."

"Well that's good because I was thinking there was a shortage of books and CDs in this place," House said, waving an arm at the shelves, which were bulging at the seams.

"I'll download the CDs to my iPod and then get rid of them," Wilson said soothingly.

House didn't look pacified. "And you can take the books in to your office. I had no idea you had so much crap in that storage locker. Have you actually given up the rental yet?"

"Yes, House," Wilson said, sharpness creeping into his voice for the first time. "If I'd kept it, you'd have just accused me of keeping a bolt hole and not committing enough to this."

Chase and Foreman looked at each other and simultaneously started to edge towards the door. Cameron, however, entered at that moment with a large smile and an even larger box of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and stopped them in their tracks.

The argument was swiftly shelved as House dived to claim the donut with chocolate sprinkles. Chase and Foreman each took a donut and sat down on the packing case, which was large enough to accommodate them both. Chase, seeking a change of subject, remarked that now that Wilson had finished moving in, Henry would be claiming his winnings today on the cohabitation pool. House, his mouth full of donut, mumbled something about "the fucking cheek of it."

"You know, Radiology are restructuring the whole pool now," Chase carried on. "They didn't want to carry on letting people pick dates for your engagement and civil union. They seemed to think after the Henry thing that people might get inside information."

"Suspect number one," Foreman said, pointing at Chase.

"Anyway, it's now going to be a sweepstake," Chase said hastily. "A prize draw. They're dividing the next twelve years into three-month periods, and everyone who wants in gets to draw a period randomly. Whoever's got the period when you get engaged takes half the pool, whoever's got it when the civil union happens gets the other half." He looked embarrassed. "If it happens, of course."

House snorted. "Well, now I know why nobody's managed to cure cancer. It's because all human ingenuity is going into devising entertainment based on mine and Wilson's lives."

"Why is it over the next twelve years?" Cameron was inquisitive.

"There's about fifty people in the pool so it works out quite nicely. Also takes us through to House reaching sixty, when it's widely assumed he'd retire," Chase explained. "Last options are post-retirement, and never."

"For Christ's sake!" House looked more indignant than ever.

"So what periods have you three got?" Wilson asked, licking jelly off his fingers.

"They haven't done the draw yet," Chase said. "They're waiting until after you've actually moved in, so I guess it'll be done pretty soon."

House leaned over to lick jelly off Wilson's fingers. "Don't hold your breath, any of you."

***

Wilson decided he couldn't face emptying the large packing chest right now, so it was left where it was. Cameron found a large piece of fabric in one of Wilson's boxes and threw it decoratively over the chest to disguise it. ("You own a throw?" House asked with scorn. Wilson protested without much conviction that it was a blanket).

After Chase, Cameron and Foreman had left, Wilson sat down on the packing case, looking tired. He rubbed his eyes and then lay backwards on the chest, feet still on the floor. He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, apparently wondering what the hell he'd done.

House watched him, and mentally added this picture to his list of Wilson looking fucking irresistible. Wilson was clad in jeans and a casual shirt, hot and sweaty with shirtsleeves rolled up after an afternoon shifting boxes, hair plastered over his forehead, half-sprawled on a large box in the middle of the living room floor.

"I need to take a shower—" Wilson started to say, and stopped abruptly when his view of the ceiling was replaced by a pair of bright blue eyes suddenly only a few inches from his own. A few seconds later House was on top of him, pinning him down hard against the packing case, House's chest pressed against Wilson's chest and his groin pushed snugly down against Wilson's groin.

"Um," Wilson said, before House's mouth came down on his.

House released Wilson's lips a moment later, and muttered, "You can get dirtier than this before taking a shower."

Wilson's eyes dissolved into glinting brown pools of desire, and he muttered back, "Bedroom?"

"Naw." House shifted his weight a little, leaning on his good leg, rubbing his crotch up against Wilson's. "Nothing like a bit of hard wood underneath you for some good friction."

Wilson snorted with laughter, then reached down to undo House's fly, then his own. House shut his eyes and clenched his teeth at the feeling of his cock rubbing up against Wilson's, Wilson's body pinned and barely able to move underneath his own. Fuck, he could just never get enough of this. And now Wilson was living here, he could have Wilson like this or however he wanted, whenever he wanted.

House moved up and down, gently at first, then harder, feeling Wilson's breathing get faster and breathier with each roll, and then a gasp of "Mmmmph-House-" before Wilson's body jerked convulsively as he came. House, just a few seconds behind, moaned "Sweet Jesus Christ," into Wilson's neck.

The two of them lay together for a while afterwards, panting at first, breathing gradually slowing, relaxing. House rolled off of Wilson but stayed pressed up against him. There wasn't a lot of room and he would have rolled off the case otherwise.

After a few minutes House said, apropos of nothing, "So I guess Radiology will be doing their sweepstake draw now. Those fuckers think of everything. Betcha anything that if we ever get married they'll start up a divorce pool."

Wilson was silent for a moment, then said, "It's not gonna happen."

"What, marriage or divorce?" House asked, his tone light.

"House, if we were ever to get married there is no fucking way I'd ever get divorced again."

House grinned into the dim light. After a while, he asked, "Did you propose to each one of your wives? The whole get-down-on-bended-knee, here's-a-ring thing?"

"Sure did. And after my last divorce, I swore I'd never do it again." Wilson patted House on the arm. "You ever want to get married, you'll have to be the one asking me."

***

A couple of days later, Chase bumped into Wilson in a hospital corridor and asked in conversation, "You manage to get rid of that packing case yet?"

"Uh, no," Wilson answered with a straight face. "We thought we'd leave it where it is for a bit."

***

The exact details of the House/Wilson marriage sweepstake were kept a state secret by the Radiology department, who were determined not to let House have any influence on this one. House soon discovered there was no need to snoop around to discover who had what period of time, as people with an interest gave themselves away readily enough with questions and hints to both himself and Wilson.

Some six months after Wilson had moved in, House discovered, while eavesdropping on a conversation between his staff, that they were now in the time period that Taub had drawn. Also that Kutner's slot was some way off, and Thirteen was pissed as she had pulled practically the last available date in twelve years time.

The following day House faked a splendidly elaborate phone call to his mother, at a time when he knew Taub was in the conference room next door and the door between them was open a crack.

"Hi Mom. Guess who? How'd'ya guess? Ah of course, no-one else calls you Mom!" House laughed into the receiver. "Yeah... I know it's been a while since I last called," House went on solemnly. "But I do have some news, you see." He paused and chuckled, twisting the telephone wire back and forth. "Yeah. You got it. Civil unions, that's what they call them here." He paused again. He was fairly sure he could see Taub out of the corner of his eye, peering surreptitiously through the door. "Well, we've talked about it on and off ever since Wilson moved in. Yeah, we've been getting along very well." Pause. "We haven't decided yet, but just a small ceremony. Soon though, within the next couple of months, definitely." Another pause. "I'll phone you again when I've got more details. Thanks Mom, I knew we'd have your blessing! Maybe you can break it to Dad and let me know when he comes down from the roof. Bye."

House hung up and was careful not to look towards the door straight away. A few minutes later, he chanced a glance; Taub had gone.

House hummed happily to himself, picked up his Gameboy and began a new game.

A couple of hours later, Wilson came in and sat down opposite, wearing an annoyed, but amused expression.

"House, you are an absolute bastard."

"Thanks," House said brightly, and put down the Gameboy in anticipation. "What have I done to deserve such a compliment?"

"You know perfectly well," Wilson said, and smiled despite his best effort not to. "I was doing such a useful afternoon's work, when in came Taub, with Kutner and Thirteen and two of the Radiology Department secretaries..."

Oh Christ, Taub had told the others and gone straight to Radiology without even checking with Wilson first. House chortled. Taub really wasn't as smart as he thought himself to be.

"...Taub blabbering about this phone call he'd heard you make to your mother." Wilson rolled his eyes. "And the secretaries all excited, while trying not to be."

"I so wish I'd been there," House said sincerely.

"Too right you should've been there," Wilson said severely. "Anyway, Taub flung out his arm," Wilson flung out his own arm to demonstrate, "and said, all dramatic, 'Tell them, Dr. Wilson!' So I told them you'd evaded a phone call from your mother just last night by pretending to have lost your voice, and it was most unlikely you'd be phoning her today. And I asked what were you supposed to be phoning her about anyway? At this point Taub suddenly turned bright pink and said, 'Oh crap.'"

House's grin was wicked. "He didn't say what he'd heard?"

"Like it wasn't obvious, with the Radiology secretaries there, and one of them had the book under her arm." Wilson couldn't help but smile again. "Taub tried to back out of the room, but Thirteen and Kutner decided it would be funny to tell me what he'd heard. Taub had fallen for it, hook line and sinker, but they'd believed it too, when he told them. I said, in a kindly way, that they might not have worked with you that long, but they really should learn."

"Kindly Dr. Wilson, setting them straight." House picked up his Gameboy again. "I guess it didn't occur to you to play along with it, for a bit."

Wilson looked carefully at House. "No, it didn't occur to me."

House shrugged and switched on his Gameboy. Wilson watched House for a long minute, and then left the room.

***

Poker night was just finishing as Wilson breezed cheerfully into the apartment.

Wilson had now been living there a year; things hadn't always gone smoothly, but House hadn't kicked him out once, and Wilson had only stormed out twice, and been back within a couple of days each time. Overall, all was well. Moving in hadn't changed the fact that Wilson was still banned from House's Thursday night poker sessions, but Wilson had confided in Henry that found he quite liked having an evening once a week to himself anyway.

"Hi guys," Wilson sang out as he walked into the kitchen. He was carrying a bag of groceries.

"Hi Wilson," they chorused from their seats round the kitchen table, except for Bus Stop Guy who was occupied in counting his winnings.

House was stood leaning on the counter. Wilson came to put the bag down, and he and House exchanged a kiss. Henry and the other guys round the table exchanged smiles.

"Bad night?" Wilson asked.

"Cards all against me," House said mournfully. He brightened up at the sight of the grocery bag. "What've you brought me? Any ice cream in there?"

"Groceries, practical stuff, like fruit and vegetables," Wilson said severely.

House started to poke inside the bag anyway. "I hope you got toothpaste. We ran out this morning."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yes, I got toothpaste. Not that it would have hurt you to buy some yourself if you noticed we were out."

"Like you'd let me buy toothpaste anyway," House said, unperturbed. "You can only bear to use that sensitive teeth stuff. Being such a sensitive kinda guy. Ah!" He'd found a tub of Ben & Jerry's; Wilson, who had picked it out especially for House to find, smiled at House indulgently. House grabbed the tub and opened a drawer to look for a spoon.

"You two jawing sound just like me and my old lady," Bus Stop Guy piped up, apparently emboldened by his good fortune.

"Shut the fuck up," House said, rooting through the drawer.

"What a lovely image," Wilson said, straight-faced.

"Like an old married couple, aren't they," Henry put in mischievously.

"Your sweepstake time coming up, is it?" House stuck a spoon in the ice-cream tub. Henry knew this was an idle remark; House was aware that the previous winners of the Radiology betting pools (Henry, Cuddy and Nurse Brenda) had all been excluded from the current sweepstake.

"I've always said the same," Dry Cleaner guy commented to Henry, encouraged by Bus Stop Guy's example. "When Wilson brings all the shirts in on a Saturday? Picture of domestic bliss."

"Haven't you all got homes to go to?" House said darkly.

"I guess you'll be doing your taxes jointly next year?" Tax Accountant asked.

"God, it's just like being at work," House groaned through a mouthful of ice cream. "So sorry to disappoint you all, but Wilson and me are not engaged, nor do we have forthcoming plans for marriage or civil unions or whatever the fuck it's called these days."

"I'm no lawyer," said Tax Accountant, "but if you're not doing the whole civil union thing, you oughtta at least think about making wills, if you haven't already. You own this place, don't you, House?"

House inclined his head forward a notch.

"Well, I did taxes for these two guys, lived together for ten years," Tax Accountant went on. "They were always useless at their returns, never kept any paper. Hated bureaucracy. One of them fell under a bus last year, their condo was in his name, and without a will it went to his father, who came round and threw his partner out on the street. No rights, even though he'd helped pay off the mortgage for God knows how many years. Sad fucking case it was."

Henry saw Wilson actually shiver, as if a cold chill had swept unexpectedly through the room.

House looked at Wilson, and in a gentle tone, as if nobody else was in the room, said, "My dad's an asshole, but he's not that much of an asshole."

Then, louder, speaking to the whole room now, House went on, "Thank fuck I have got a will and it all goes to Wilson."

Henry saw genuine surprise on Wilson's face, and then Wilson asked quietly, "Since when, House?"

"Since this happened." House pointed to his bad leg. "New medical proxy, new will. Who else was I going to leave stuff to? My tart of a cousin? The hospital that had just crippled me?"

"I had no idea," Wilson said, wonderingly, and then louder, "Well, that's great to know, especially as you're my sole beneficiary."

It was House's turn to look surprised, and echo, "Since when?"

"Since the ink dried on my last set of divorce papers."

House stuck the ice cream spoon in his mouth thoughtfully. Then he looked round the room and said, "Well, now everyone present knows that if either of us dies in suspicious circumstances you need to check that the other one isn't guilty of murder. Now fuck off home, the lot of you."

Tax Accountant, Dry Cleaner and Bus Stop Guy got to their feet, pulled on coats and headed obediently off. Henry followed suit, a little more slowly; he usually stayed behind a bit after poker to chat with Wilson as well as House, but somehow tonight didn't seem like a night that they'd welcome company.

***

A week after that poker night, House and Wilson were out in House's car during lunchtime when Wilson realized, abruptly, that they weren't going to a restaurant as he'd thought they were after all.

"House, we're not breaking into someone's apartment again, are we? You haven't even got a patient at the moment."

"And I've got staff to do it for me if I had," House agreed, taking a left turn. "You'll soon see."

They arrived at an anonymous office building, housing various different companies. Wilson followed House down several corridors, bewildered, until they arrived at a door with a plaque proclaiming it was a law firm.

"House, you haven't gotten arrested again, have you?"

"No, and if I had I wouldn't come here; this is a conveyancing firm," House declared, pushing open the door. He said to the receptionist inside, "Dr. Gregory House; I have an appointment."

"A conveyancing firm?" Wilson asked blankly, as they were led inside an office.

"Yeah. I'm putting our apartment into both our names, as joint owners."

"No!" Wilson was dumbstruck. He caught House's arm. "House, are you sure?"

"Yeah." House stopped and looked at Wilson. "I don't think my dad's that big an asshole, but I wouldn't want you to find out that he is if I'm not there. And let's face it, one way or another, I'm going first. I'm older than you, crippled, drug-addicted, and ride a motorcycle."

"Not to mention you've got a habit of sticking knives into electric sockets," Wilson couldn't help but say. "And having dodgy blood transfusions. And so on."

"That too. Anyway," House shrugged. "It's the right thing to do."

Wilson was silent, taking in the enormity of such a large and significant step. Then he said, "You know I'd do the same for you. If my wives had left me any assets, that is."

"Instead of which I expect the world's best blow-job tonight," House said, in full hearing of the receptionist.

***

Some six months later, on an ordinary working day at the hospital, Wilson fell into step with House in the corridor.

"House, I'll be back a bit late this evening. I'm having a drink after work with a friend of Kutner's from medical school. He's thinking about going into oncology and Kutner asked me to have a chat with him."

"Always the one to help," House grumbled. "Can't you talk to him here?"

"He's only in Princeton for a night and he's busy during the day, flying visit," Wilson explained. "I said I'd meet him in his hotel bar."

"Does that mean I have to wait for dinner?" House complained.

"Maybe. Although you could always start cooking it yourself, of course."

"Maybe I won't be that hungry."

"Of course not," Wilson said with a smile, and headed away towards his office.

House headed off for a reluctant session of clinic duty. It was late afternoon by the time he got rid of the last vomiting child, and he would normally have gladly gone home straight afterwards, but found himself uneasy about Wilson for no reason he could put his finger on. Maybe it was some passing remark of Kutner's that had spooked him, though House couldn't recall anything specific. House hung around his office for a while, and then had a look on Wilson's calendar to check his whereabouts. He then headed out, got his bike, and drove off to the hotel where Wilson had gone.

Once there, House headed through the lobby and found the bar off to one side. He paused at the door, looking around. He saw Wilson sitting at the bar, perched on a stool, talking to another man.

House's worst fears were confirmed; Kutner's friend was young, good looking, and damned if he wasn't flirting with Wilson right now—leaning in, smiling at something Wilson was saying.

House had a choice—barge in right now and nip this in the bud before there was even the slightest chance of anything happening, or go sit at the bar on the other side of that handy wooden pillar and try and hear what Wilson was saying.

After a few minutes spent sneaking round the side of the room, House was seated at the bar on the other side of the pillar, a glass of whisky in front of him. He had waved the barman over and managed to convey the brand he wanted and that he wanted it on the rocks, without saying a word. He couldn't see Wilson but he could hear him well. Right now Wilson was talking seriously about life as an oncologist; the tragedy of breaking the bad news to people, especially parents; the agony of seeing so many patients die; how rewarding it was when a patient went into remission; the triumph when a once sick child went home to lead an almost normal life.

Kutner's friend went uh-huh in all the right places and asked a few intelligent questions. House sipped his whisky and started to think he was worrying about nothing.

Then the conversation reached a natural end, and House heard Wilson say, "Well, I hope that was of some use to you. Good luck, I hope you make the right decision for you." There was a clink of a glass being set down. "I'd better be off home now."

"I was wondering if you'd like to do dinner," Kutner’s friend said.

House froze with his glass mid-air towards his mouth.

There was a pause, and House really, really wished he could see what was happening. He assumed that they were exchanging looks, that Wilson was raising those bushy eyebrows of his to say by dinner do you mean ...

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Wilson said eventually, his tone slightly apologetic but quite firm.

House let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and put the glass down on the bar with a shaking hand.

"Well, if you say so," the other man said, sounding regretful. "Kutner said you live with his boss, Dr. House?"

"That's right," Wilson said readily.

"If even half what I've heard about House is true... he must be an interesting guy to live with. Have you known him long?"

"More than twenty years," Wilson said, and House knew without needing to see that Wilson's left hand would have stolen to his right hand, to touch that ring that House had given him on their twentieth anniversary. House looked at his own ring on his own right hand. Suddenly he really wished that they wore these rings on their left hands. That would have told this fucker, and anyone else waiting in the wings, that Wilson was seriously off-limits.

"That's quite a while," the other man said in an admiring tone. "Well, if you change your mind, I don't have any plans tonight, and I'm here in room 317."

"I'm flattered, thank you, but I'm not changing my mind. I do have to go now." Wilson's tone was charming, but still firm. There was a rustling noise and then the sound of the bar stool scraping on the floor. House guessed Wilson had stood up to go. "Nice meeting you. Have a good evening."

House sat very still, not daring to look over his shoulder as Wilson headed out of the room. A minute later he dared to look, then relaxed; Wilson had gone. Kutner’s friend was still sitting at the bar. As House watched, he struck up a cheerful conversation with the barman.

House drained the rest of his whisky and left, his mind whirling. As he got on his bike, House found, to his surprise, that what he wanted to do more than anything in the world was get home, find Wilson, tell him what he'd seen, and say, "Marry me, you idiot."

But he knew that would be a bad idea. Because Wilson would know he was doing it in a fit of jealousy, would be angry that House had spied on him. He might even flounce out and go back to that hotel and find room 317—no, he wouldn't do that. Wilson had behaved absolutely impeccably at the bar, House knew. It had now been a year and a half since they'd started living together; rationally, House knew that Wilson got hit on all the time, he was far too pretty for this not to be the case, and he had perfected the art of brushing people off politely.

House knew full well that Wilson had proposed to his ex-wives for a variety of bad reasons (parental expectations, pity, being on the rebound, and at the heart of all of them, a pathetic desire to please). Undoubtedly House proposing out of jealousy would be another bad reason. Well, it was a bad reason. But—and House came slowly to this realization in the course of his ride home—it wasn't actually the reason.

When he'd heard that guy try and hit on Wilson... of course House had been jealous, he always had been jealous about Wilson. But it was more than that. It cut to the core of why House was always jealous. That he couldn't imagine being without Wilson by his side, lurking in the next-door office, curled up next to him at night. The idea that it might ever not be like that made House feel sick; he couldn't comprehend how terrible it would be, because they were meant to be together. They'd both forgotten that many times over the years, and often when one of them had remembered it, the other had been otherwise occupied. But they were now closer than they'd been to a real commitment, to forever.

And House knew if they were ever going to seal that, he would have to be the one doing the asking.

House arrived back at the apartment, and found Wilson in the kitchen just starting dinner.

"Hey, House, I beat you home after all. Working late?"

"Yeah. How was Kutner's buddy?" House asked, offhandedly, kicking off his sneakers.

"Fine. Don't think he should become an oncologist though." Wilson put the lid on a saucepan and turned to face House. "Also, he hit on me! I was quite surprised. You might want to give Kutner some grief about that. He could've warned me that might happen."

House, relieved beyond words that Wilson had told him, expressed mock outrage and assured Wilson that Kutner would be in his bad books for a long time.

He then sat and watched Wilson cook dinner, and pondered how he would ask Wilson to marry him.

***

They got married on a blustery day, when the wind played havoc, sweeping House's hair into a tangled mess and flipping Wilson's hair repeatedly over his left ear on the way up the steps into the city hall. House wore a dark suit and Wilson wore a light suit. House wore the red tie Wilson had given him all those years ago for the Tritter trial; Wilson wore a tie House had picked out (though not paid for, naturally) especially for the occasion, on the grounds that Wilson's own ties were all just too ugly. The shirts were old, the suits were new, they'd each borrowed sets of cuff links off Henry. And Wilson's tie and House's shirt (the one Cuddy liked, that matched his eyes) were blue.

They had two witnesses, nobody else present—Cuddy in a gorgeous, skin-tight ivory shift dress, huge smile and big hair, and Henry, shuffling round awkwardly and looking like the slightly dodgy uncle who didn't know quite what wedding he was at. Cuddy looked after House's ring; Henry looked after Wilson's, each stepping forward at the right moment, to allow House and Wilson in turn to place each antique ring on the third finger of their left hands. They each, of course, still had their non-matching twentieth anniversary rings on their right hands. The ceremony was short, and sweet, and Cuddy took photographs of them afterwards, standing on the steps outside and kissing, the wind ruffling their hair and blowing House's tie over his shoulder.

After the ceremony, the four of them went out for dinner and then to a small, smoky basement jazz club in the evening. They sat and sipped single malts and House smoked a cigar, and occasionally House would rest a hand on Wilson's knee, or Wilson reach out and touch House's shoulder, and Cuddy and Henry would exchange beaming looks of approval. Late in the evening House was persuaded to play the piano in the corner. He thumped out a couple of rollocking tunes, then abruptly went all soulful and romantic with the next piece, playing with his gaze directed firmly at Wilson and not at the piano keys, and Wilson sat and looked back at House with smoldering eyes.

Henry snapped a photo of House and Wilson together after the ceremony on his phone, and also managed to get a surreptitious shot of their civil union certificate when neither of them was looking. He didn't often use the camera on his phone (his grandchildren had had to show him how to use it) and he was pleased that the resulting pictures were OK.

Henry forwarded the pictures on to Kutner as promised the next day, and Kutner took them in triumph to the Radiology department to claim his winnings.

END